Die Geschichte Preußens
by icearrows1200
Summary: Human AU. Gilbert Beilschmidt, a college student on the final stretch towards graduation, finds his world torn apart when his grandfather dies and he's left at the whim of the law regarding the custody of his younger brother. With only his brother left as family, Gilbert must face issues of money, resposibility, friendship, and adulthood or suffer the consequences. Slight PruAus.
1. Chapter 1

" _Asche zu Asche, Staub zu Staub_."

And like that, the casket of his grandfather was closed.

It was sunny, sunny as it had been for a week. Sun pouring in through windows, beaming down so brilliantly and feeding the world and heating the ground for the life that basks in its nutrients. A sun had forever immortalized the last image Gilbert would ever have of his grandfather- half his face in shadow, the other in light, his eyes of steel closed and rivers of deep wrinkles still dark across his forehead.

Gilbert suddenly couldn't remember his grandfather any other way. It was like his entire memory of him had been replaced by the final image he would ever _really_ see. Memories of childhood games before the fireplace and riding bikes through the German hills of Bavaria were suddenly filled with a sickly, gaunt old man, the life leaving his eyes, his lungs struggling to breathe.

"Say goodbye, Gilbert," Ludwig whimpered, who was still so young that his blonde head of hair only came up to Gilbert's elbow, "Say goodbye to Opa."

Gilbert felt his throat go pinhole tight as the moment of silence prevailed. His vision grew blurry, but he blinked back whatever tears dared well in his eyes. There was no reason to cry, no reason to even say farewell. He had already done those things, away from all these people, most of whom he'd never known. It seemed like _everyone_ was staring at him with their glistening, tear-stained eyes, wondering when he'd fall to his knees and beg God for a reason for leaving him and his brother alone in this world, _why, God, why_?!

But Gilbert knew why. Opa Gerhard was old, and the old must die sooner or later.

Gilbert nudged Ludwig with his elbow, a notion for him to shut his damn mouth around all these sickeningly mournful people. He wondered if any of them really knew him.

The silence broke with the prayers done, and people began to mingle about, weeping into each other's stiff shoulders, their dresses sweeping behind them in the wind, their stiff collars hiding their beet red faces, like a turtle into its shell. Some strolled around the cemetery to stretch their legs and ease their hearts, but Gilbert remained in place, and likewise, Ludwig by his side.

Ludwig had gotten quite good at crying quietly, Gilbert noticed, because he _knew_ the boy was blubbering and bawling without looking at him, but hadn't heard anything else. The two stared at the casket for a few, silent moments, and Gilbert found interest in the design of the wooden box that housed a body but no man. Someone else had picked out the casket, likely because no one would trust him enough. Who would trust a twenty-two year old college student with the last thing his grandfather would be seen in? They'd probably choose Ludwig over him any day.

Gilbert pretended not to see the man approach him from across the lawn.

But from the corner of his eye, he looked the man over. He was rather tall, with lanky legs like a crane and round, beady blue eyes- his suit was too short for his legs, and too small for his rotund stomach, but he looked remarkably more put together than Gilbert felt.

The man stopped right in front of Gilbert and extended his hand. However, Gilbert was still interested in pretending he wasn't there in an effort to get him to leave. The man, however, clearly wasn't having any of it, and cleared his throat loudly.

Gilbert lifted his eyes to meet the man's, and came face-to-face with the pleasant expression of puppy-like droopy cheeks, a pointed, Romanesque nose, and a head of wild, stringy, grey hair.

"I'm Herr Zollern," The man declared, nodding to his hand. Gilbert accepted it reluctantly. "Might you be Gilbert and Ludwig Beilschmidt?"

Before Gilbert could deny their identity, Ludwig piped up, "Yes, sir."

He smiled gently, "I'm very sorry for your loss."

Gilbert said nothing, dead set on staring this man down with a glare that could bend iron until he left. Ludwig thanked him quietly.

"You see," Herr Zollern gestured for the two to follow him along one of the gravel paths. Gilbert would've stayed in his spot had it not been for Ludwig, who obediently began striding after him. That boy needed to learn his limits.

Herr Zollern continued as they strolled, "I was a friend of your grandfather throughout his life. We met at the University of Munich after the war. We parted ways after school, but kept in touch through letters about our lives, our families. I've heard a great deal about you two." He pointed to Gilbert, "You, Gilbert, who finds trouble where it often does not exist and the beauty in things, where others cannot see it. And you," He turned to look down at Ludwig as Gilbert practically steamed with fury. Who was this man to claim what Gilbert could and could not see?

"Little Ludwig, the fastest runner his age and the brightest in his studies, too."

Gilbert inwardly gagged. Yes, it would seem his brother could get recognition for practically anything. The kid could avoid stepping on an insect and he'd get a pat on the back, an award from animal rights groups, and God himself would descend from Heaven to congratulate him on existing.

Nonetheless, Ludwig beamed through his watery eyes, his voice wobbling like a top, "Th-thank you, sir."

"How old are you, now?"

"I'm twelve."

"Very good," Herr Zollern answered, "If it would be possible, I'd like to take you boys out for a coffee, beer, lunch… whatever you'd like."

Gilbert finally had had enough, and spat, "Why?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, "Why would a complete stranger want to take us out for a drink? Don't you think that's a little weird?"

"A little, perhaps," Herr Zollern gestured to a decrepit grave, shrouded almost entirely by grass, "But I'm sure Herr.." He squinted at the stone, trying to decipher its lettering, "...Rothschild wouldn't mind a nice beer right now."

"What, are you trying to say that life is too short not to drink?" Gilbert folded his arms closely to his chest.

"No, I'm saying it's too short to pass the time in a cemetery."

Gilbert didn't know _what_ made him agree to it, but the next minute, he was in a car worth more than he would probably ever make, and Herr Zollern was driving into the town center like he owned it. Maybe it was because Ludwig would be moping around, clutching his grumbling stomach later that made him say yes to this free meal, or maybe it was the fact that this man hadn't yet given Gilbert a chance to _properly_ defy him and make him look like a fool, but nonetheless, in ten minutes they were outside a nameless bakery.

Ludwig oggled each one of the rolls, the sweet ones, the seeded ones, and eventually settled on a _Schoko-croissant,_ flakes crumbling over his plate and lap as he chewed away at the pastry. Herr Zollern ordered a small square of strawberry cake, and Gilbert might have actually _ordered_ a beer if they had been anywhere else, but instead, settled on a coffee.

"Aren't you hungry, Gilbert?"

"No." Gilbert stirred the sugar into his coffee aimlessly, watching the steam roll off the top in wispy clouds. His head was beginning to pound with the early signs of a headache, and the light overhead wasn't easing it at all.

Herr Zollern took a bite of his cake, then talked to both boys directly, "Now, you two, I wasn't merely your grandfather's friend, but I was his lawyer, as well. Likewise, I've taken you here because there are matters to discuss."

He paused for a moment to take another chunk out of his cake, and the break made Gilbert's stomach do flips, "What… kind of matters?"

"Mm. This is very good cake." He swallowed, "A few financial things that shouldn't be too tricky, but most of it is regarding the custody of Ludwig."

The floor seemed to drop out from beneath him and the walls spun as Gilbert's jaw dropped, "He'll… live with me, right? Ludwig isn't going anywhere."

Ludwig looked up to Gilbert, chocolate filling on his quivering lips, eyes beginning once more to fill with tears. Gilbert looked away.

"Tell me, Gilbert, are you in college?"

"Answer the question," Gilbert demanded shakily, "Will or will I not get custody? We don't have any other family- there's no where else for him to go. And you can bet your _ass_ he's not going to some random family a hundred miles away from me." He slammed his fist on the table, getting him a raised eyebrow from the baker, but Gilbert ignored it.

Herr Zollern seemed more interested in his cake than Gilbert's outburst, "Are you in college?"

Ludwig had begun to cry again, but _especially_ quietly this time, so much so that Gilbert would've never known had he not seen the tears streaming down his brother's face from beside him.

"Yes, I'm in college," Gilbert finally admitted, "University of Munich, actually."

"Your course of study?"

"History."

Herr Zollern seemed taken aback, "Really? History?"

Gilbert flushed and looked down into his coffee. He hadn't touched the liquid, and it was so still he could see his own reflection in it. A long sip from it washed away what he could see of his face. Of course Herr Zollern, like anyone, would scoff at his choice of a major. Even his own grandfather had been hesitant to let him pursue that course- granted, he could become a teacher or a professor, maybe write a book if he played his cards right, but really, there was no where to go with that one.

"Yes," Gilbert muttered, "History."

A great grin broke out on Herr Zollern's face, doubling the amount of wrinkles on his cheeks, "Why I _love_ history! What a pleasant coincidence! Any time period in particular?"

With the attention turned on him, Gilbert flushed again despite himself, "Sorry, but don't we have other things to talk about?" Ludwig whimpered at the notion, his pastry sitting half-eaten on his plate. Taken a chaste glance at him, Gilbert sighed, wondering if his brother would ever grow a backbone. It wasn't that he thought emotions were something to be ashamed of, it was that they shouldn't be overwhelming during times of crisis.

Herr Zollern was unfazed, "Of course." His cake was gone by now, leaving a plateful of crumbs behind, "First, we must discuss finances. Gilbert, I understand you're working part-time on a campus restaurant."

Gilbert nodded, though he felt anxiousness bubbling up in his gut. Personally, talking about money right now was the last thing he wanted to do, besides being here with this man after a funeral. He had things to do, an entire essay to write, and Herr Zollern looked like he was having too much fun with this.

"I'm not going to ask you how much you make, because unfortunately, I doubt it's a lot. However, as you would guess, your grandfather left you a great deal."

Gilbert scoffed and leaned on his elbow. His will, of course. After his and Ludwig's parents died, the only family remaining was Gerhard, and it was only natural that Gilbert would now be responsible for everything. Gerhard was relatively secretive- who knew how much money he had saved up? Did he have enemies? It was an immense prospect that Gilbert was hardly willing to take on. It didn't matter if they inherited a fortune to set them up for life- he knew what money did, how it could screw you over and be tricked out of him by a suave businessman if he wasn't careful.

"We don't want it," Gilbert answered definitely.

Ludwig gasped, wide-eyed, "What? It could support us for a long time."

Herr Zollern's eyes softened, "Gilbert… don't you want to hear how much it is?"

"Not at all."

"Well," Herr Zollern said, remarkably still calm, causing Gilbert's blood to boil, "It has to go somewhere. Would you like me to donate it to charity?"

Gilbert almost shouted yes, then would've stood up and left, but took one look at his brother, small and very nearly shaking with fear and prospects of the future. That was probably the biggest difference between the two brothers- Ludwig took on the worries, while Gilbert found no point in panicking.

He swallowed harshly, "Put it in a trust fund for Ludwig."

"Okay," Herr Zollern's eyes bore into Gilbert's, strong and piercing, and he found he had to look away. "I'm going to let you make that final decision on paper next week, when we meet up again. But not a poor idea, considering our next point of topic."

Then it hit Gilbert like a flying brick. Without any reasonable means of support, how could _anyone_ give a twenty-two year old custody of a twelve year old? The inheritance could help, surely, to convince the courts he was capable of caring for his brother, but there was no way to know.

"You're an adult, Gilbert, and likewise, eligible to be legal guardian of Ludwig, should you prove capable," Herr Zollern explained, "I'm assuming you'll be living in the home here in Munich your grandfather owned. Likewise, your salary from your job will be paying for the utilities, food, and other expenses."

"Correct." Gilbert declared.

"I'm glad you're so decisive," Herr Zollern smiled, "I will arrive at your home next week at six in the evening so we can sign the papers in regards to the inheritance and your brother's trust. It is then that we'll schedule the court hearing for your custody of Ludwig."

"I'm glad we talked to you," Gilbert spat, " _Herr Zollern_. Come on, Ludwig," He gestured to his brother, who obeyed and began inching his way out of his seat.

"I'm glad I talked to you, boys. Can I give you a ride home?"

" _No_ ," Gilbert yanked on Ludwig's jacket and began dragging the resistant boy outside, "We live a few minutes away from here."

Outside of the bakery, Ludwig dragged his feet as they began walking in the direction of their house, "It's not a few minutes away, Gilbert. More like twenty."

"I don't _care_." Gilbert seethed, practically stomping his way along the sidewalk. The center of Munich was a decent train ride from where they were, but they lived in the quiet outskirts, where vines grew on houses and the buildings were clean and quaint. "That man is going to try and take you away from me, Ludwig. He's going to take us to some stupid place where no one knows us and decide whether or not I can take care of you."

"If you would accept the money, then maybe I can stay with you." Ludwig said, a bite to his voice.

"Technically, the money _is_ going to you, so don't be ungrateful. You're young, so you won't understand this, but with money, comes a lot of problems. Opa probably had a lot of enemies who are _more_ than willing to dig up some dumb law or just use their power to take it from us. We're better off without it," Gilbert explained, quickening his pace so that Ludwig had to nearly jog on his short legs to keep up.

"Opa wouldn't have any enemies!" Ludwig cried, his voice starting to waver again, "Is it such a risk that you won't even keep _me_?"

"Money _creates_ enemies, stupid. I'm not going to inherit enemies just for some money. And it doesn't matter if we have the money or not. They _will_ take you away."

Ludwig hiccuped, and Gilbert watched as his brother's eyes filled with tears once more- it was funny, how emotional he could be around his brother. Around anyone else, he was stoic and silent, an old man in a child's body. "How can you be like this? Opa just _died_! Don't you care at all?"

"Of course I care," Gilbert snapped, leaning in close to his brother and grabbing his collar, "I'm just more sensible than you. If you ever want to stay here with me, you're going to have to shut up and be a man. If you're weak, they'll snatch you up like a hawk, got it?"

They walked home in dead silence, the clouds covering the once sunny skies for the first time in days. Gilbert's fury mellowed as he stalked down the street, enraged, ignoring his brother's moping gait. They were a sorry sight, in their suits and ties, walking through the crevasses of town. When they returned home, the rooms were eerily silent. Ludwig stormed up to his room, the slam of the door echoing throughout the house.

Gilbert ripped off his tie and jacket furiously, collapsing on the couch. He rubbed his temples in anguish, and lay there for a minute in silence, a foreign feeling building up in his chest.

His phone buzzed.

When he looked at it, he very nearly threw his phone against the wall.

 _Sorry to hear about your loss._

 _-Roderich_

That stupid, infuriating music major who just wouldn't leave him alone for a damn minute thought he could offer any consolation? It was none of his business who died and he certainly didn't want to talk about it with some rich kid who treated his piano like a pet.

Gilbert turned off his phone and sunk into the couch. From that angle, he could see a framed photograph, something he hadn't looked at in a long time, perched upon the shelf.

It was he and Ludwig, when the latter had not yet started school, and Gilbert himself was just beginning to look like a man himself. Between them sat Opa Gerhard, a wide grin on his face and his eyes twinkling brightly.

But Gilbert couldn't look at the picture any longer, because his vision was blurred by tears and it was then, finally, that he allowed himself to cry. He cried because Ludwig would inevitably be taken from him and raised far away, he cried because he was too stubborn and scared to accept what was likely a fortune of money, and he cried because that stupid Austrian kid thought he was some kind of consolation.

But most of all, he cried because the only person he could go to when the world seemed to stop around him was gone forever.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading this first chapter and I hope you'll stick around for some more. :) Ludwig is a little more open only because he's young and both he and Gilbert have just had a traumatic expirience. Leave a review if you can, because it really helps._


	2. Chapter 2

The red roof topped buildings passed by in a blur of white sidings and a pumpkin-colored stream above, contrasting greatly to the pale sky. Shaded with the purples and blues like a bruise and freckled with clouds and lingering stars, the sky was a cold streak above Munich from Gilbert's view as the U-Bahn zoomed through the city. The train was absolutely packed, filled with students, businessmen and women, children, and workers alike. At each stop, some would shuffle off, and others would shuffle on, each keeping to themselves and setting a perpetual silence among the train.

Luckily, Gilbert had managed to grab a seat relatively quickly, his rucksack on his lap, avoiding eye contact with the man seated directly across from him by gazing out the window. Another five stops and he would be home free, out of this stiff and stuffy train car and into the fresh October air on his way to class. While he didn't particularly _want_ to go to class, he didn't want to stay at home, either, and maybe- just maybe- it would take his mind off of things.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Gilbert nearly gasped and turned his head to stare at the man across from him he'd been avoiding. He was dressed in a suit, his back straighter than a pole, but had an oddly unfitting haircut to match- his blonde hair was cropped around his shoulders and parted down the center. He was very short and seemed to be swimming in his own suit as his green eyes bore holes into Gilbert's.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry for your loss," He repeated, "Don't make me say it again."

Gilbert recoiled slightly, swallowed and tightened his rucksack against his chest, "Sorry, but who are you?"

The man sighed heavily, as if his identity should've been obvious, "I'm Vash Zwingli." Fortunately, he didn't offer his hand to Gilbert, "I'm here on financial business for Credit Suisse, but that's irrelevant."

 _Irrelevant, my ass_ , thought Gilbert. Credit Suisse was one of the most well known and prestigious Swiss banks. Vash must be incredibly intelligent to be on business for them.

Vash continued, "Your grandfather helped me a lot, you know, when I was at the University a few years back. It's a shame a man like him had to go. If you're worth your salts, you'll try to be like him."

Gilbert shook his head in confusion. But Opa had been retired for years- longer than Gilbert's been _alive_ , and Vash looked relatively young. There was no _way_ his career entitled anything to do with University students, and there wasn't any way Gilbert wouldn't have known about it. "But that's- when did you know him?" And the most pressing question, "How did you know I was his grandson?"

"Ah," Vash stood up, "Here's my stop. Goodbye, Mr. Beilschmidt." The U-Bahn hissed to a halt, and Vash pressed his palm to the button, sending the doors swinging open. The short man stepped out, his briefcase swinging at his side.

Gilbert soon realized that he was sitting on the edge of his seat, and he sunk back down, hoping the train would absorb him. It was true that his grandfather lived a long life, so it made sense that he would know a lot of people. But what didn't make sense was that he knew and apparently assisted someone so young. From what Gilbert could infer, Opa Gerhard was a manager during his prime, but the something didn't add up.

The train announced the stop at the University, and Gilbert stood up, slipping out of the doors and making his way towards the library.

His first class was at ten in the morning, two and a half hours from then, giving him time to stop by the library for a book he knew he'd eventually need for a report.

He found his usual spot in the back, by the drinking fountain, only to see something several shades of pink and red on the table. Upon closer inspection, it was a huge basket of a variety of chocolates, coupled with a bouquet of the richest roses he'd ever seen. A card was attached to the basket.

 _Nothing can make the pain of grief go away, but I hope this helps._

 _\- Roderich_

Furious, Gilbert picked up the basket, set it on a bookshelf, and returned to his seat, ripping his binder out of his rucksack and manhandling his pen. He aggressively read through a checklist of topics, pretending to think about them, but mostly just stifling what could be the loudest shout a library had ever experienced.

That ridiculous, pretentious, insufferable Austrian kid had _one_ class with him- it didn't give him any right to get into his private business, no less buy him what was probably a several hundred dollar gift basket.

There was a loud thud as the basket reappeared before him, inches from his hand and binder. Enraged at being interrupted, Gilbert looked up, only to find Roderich sitting across from him.

"What do you want?" Gilbert spat, refusing to look him in the eye. Roderich sat with his back as straight as a pencil, hands folded in front of him. His glasses rested on his nose regally, and Gilbert had an inkling that they had nothing to do with his actual vision. His shirt was so full of ruffles that it reminded him of the Georgian era in England, with lace like clouds and designs so ostentatious they were gag-worthy. The shirt was probably made out of the finest, hand-plucked Koala ass hair in the world.

"I want you to accept my gift," Roderich answered. Gilbert noticed that his mouth hardly moved when he talked.

"I don't want your damn gift," Gilbert declared, heaving a textbook onto his desk and flipping through the pages, "Or your sympathy."

"I'm sorry that you're unhappy right now. But really- chocolates do make things better. Eat them, okay? Or at least give them to your brother."

Gilbert knew it was impolite to punch people in a library, especially those who looked as frail and delicate as a sculpture made of toothpicks, and likewise he used his best self-control and slammed the textbook shut so hard that the sound echoed through the library. "Leave me alone, Roderich. I don't want to talk about it with you, or anyone. Stop buying me things and following me around."

While Roderich looked genuinely hurt, Gilbert suppressed any guilt he felt and stormed out of the library.

A fifteen minute walk, and Gilbert was already outside of his classroom two hours before it would start. To make use of the time, he sunk to the floor and pulled out his binder again. In his own, neat and small handwriting was a list of possible topics for his essay. Most of them, he had pulled from textbooks itself, but one had _really_ caught his interest, to the point where he had drawn several stars around the name.

 _Frederick der Große_.

He couldn't pinpoint an exact reason why, but something about the fierce and brave, yet intellectual and musical Prussian king caught his interest. It would be easy to write a report about him. With a topic finally selected, Gilbert pulled out his phone to begin preliminary research, only to find he had a text once more. From Roderich.

Begrudgingly, he read it.

 _Gilbert-_

 _I'm sorry if I've been really pushy and rude to you while you're going through this hard time. It's merely that, ever since I met you in our writing composition class, I've found you to be an interesting person with a lot of depth- if not a little culturally ignorant, especially in terms of great composers. Likewise, I've been nearly forcing myself on you because you, unlike many of our peers, are not one for contemporary culture, given your course of study. I would like to ask you out for coffee this afternoon, if you would like. I'll pay. If you still despise me after that, I'll leave you alone for the rest of your life._

 _-Roderich_

Gilbert frowned at his phone. What kind of text was this? It sounded as if he was…

Nope, Gilbert was not like that. He may not have a girlfriend yet- although that Hungarian girl was eyeing him the other day, though that might have been out of aggression- but that was no reason to make that kind of assumption about a person. Clearly, Roderich swung in that direction, though Gilbert didn't need to be told to know that.

Heart pounding uncomfortably in his chest, Gilbert responded.

 _No. Not interested._

He waited for a response for another fifteen minutes, staring at his phone as if some kind of response would surprise him. His throat had gone dry, and an uncomfortable feeling of anticipation settled in his gut. After an eternity passed by, and the clock struck nine, with Gilbert's binder still open and unthought of on his lap, he gave up any hope of Roderich texting back what would likely be some three-thousand word rant.

Did he hope he'd text back?

Of course not. For all he cared, Roderich could've moved to Peru in the last hour- it would have been a pleasure to see him running away from swarms of insects and slithering snakes.

Just as Gilbert was standing up, his professor strode by, revealing a key and jamming it into the lock gracelessly.

"Ah, Gilbert," Professor Sigismund said, his large, dark mustache moving as he spoke, "You're here early."

Gilbert nodded curtly, replacing his binder back into his bag. In comparison to Professor Sigismund, Gilbert felt rather sloppy. Having not done the laundry yet, Gilbert practically sent Ludwig off to school in his pajamas, and likewise, dressed himself in a slapdash outfit of an old sweater and jeans with a few mustard stains. Professor Sigismund, however, dressed about as neatly as he spoke English- the class he taught. With a Shakespearean tone, he could roll his tongue and form impeccable sentences that even native English speakers would envy- or at least, Americans. He dressed in a two-piece suit, a gold pocket watch chain travelling from his breast pocket to the inside of his vest. He had an angular jaw with facial hair to match, and the most accentuated widow's peak Gilbert had ever seen. He looked as if he had sprung straight from Victorian Era England to teach this class. Naturally, his German was perfect as well.

"I'm very sorry to hear about the passing of your grandfather. He really was a great man. In memory, he still is."

Gilbert almost thanked him, but he found his voice caught in his throat. Another person knew his grandfather without Gilbert being aware. He assumed Opa Gerhard must have been well-versed, but Munich was a very large city- the probability of meeting two people he knew over the course of a few hours was astronomical. Not to mention, Beilschmidt was a common surname, so he found it odd that both Professor Sigismund and Vash knew Gilbert was his grandson.

Puzzled, Gilbert swallowed harshly, "Thank you, but how did you know him?"

"Oh, here and there…" Mused Professor Sigismund, "Your grandfather helped me out a few times, as well as gave me some good advice."

While this made little sense to Gilbert, he decided to leave it at that, considering Professor Sigismund looked like he was in one of his aloof modes.

Unlocked, the door swung open and Professor Sigismund hobbled over to his desk. Gilbert slid into a seat in the back, quickly checking his phone to see if Roderich had by chance, texted back.

He had.

 _Look outside the classroom._

Gilbert's eyebrows contorted in confusion as he stood up, his mouth suddenly going dry. Was Roderich following him? It didn't matter how odd or pretentious that kid was, you don't follow people or tell them to do something through a mysterious text. Gilbert began planning what kind of moves he'd use if he was about to get mugged until he realized that a three year old could probably fight better than Roderich.

Stepping out of the room, he looked around, from side to side, down either side of the hallway, but saw nothing.

He took a step forward, and had that step been any wider, he would've completely tripped over the gift basket.

There it was, making its newest debut in the Language Wing of the University, its red roses still practically spilling over the edges and boxes of chocolates jutting out of the sides. Gilbert felt frustration boil his blood- it seemed he could not rid himself of Roderich, no matter how hard he tried.

He was almost about to turn on his heel and reenter the classroom when a new note caught his eye. It was larger than the previous, hanging off of the edge of the basket, and upon closer inspection, he saw the handwriting was still Roderich's but much less regal looking.

 _Take it, you motherfucker._

Gilbert had to stifle a laugh in the dead silence of the hallway. Apparently, Roderich knew what kind of language spoke to Gilbert the most. He allowed himself to grin widely, however, and soon, the basket was in his arms and a delectable chocolate in his mouth.

* * *

The train ride home was an interesting one, with an enormous, red hamper on a rather dejected-looking man's lap and his hands sticky with chocolate. He had eaten an entire box after two classes, and was working on his second one when the U-Bahn came to a halt at his station. Balancing it in his hands, he hoisted it up and exited the train car, meandering towards his house.

Well, Gilbert had to admit that Roderich was correct on at least one level: chocolate really does help.

What it didn't do, however, was take away the sinking feeling in his gut as he neared his house. Ludwig would be home from school in an hour, and he'd probably want to discuss the possibility of accepting the money or what would happen if the courts decide he should be taken away.

It also didn't help with the notion that discussing that would be _inevitable_ with Herr Zollern in one week, but he didn't dare think about that yet. He just wanted to get home.

As soon as he hung up his keys and jacket, Gilbert collapsed on the couch, chocolate still between his teeth. This one was mint, with a tang to it that wasn't too sweet, nor too much like toothpaste. He swallowed happily, stomach pleasantly full, and fell asleep in ignorant bliss.

When he awoke, the first thing he saw was the lower half of Ludwig's body roaming around the house, hanging his backpack up on a hook and taking off his shoes and putting them in the neatest row he'd ever seen. Yawning, he sat up, his mouth still tasting like chocolate, and rubbed his eyes. Given the previous day, he expected himself to be angered at the sight of Ludwig, at the reminder of what a single death could do, how the ricochet of events could spiral into disaster. Remarkably, he wasn't.

"Hey, kid," Gilbert stretched like a cat, "How was school?"

"Fine," Ludwig deadpanned. It was always fine, always a routine with him. He never got into any trouble, never made any friends, never kissed any girls between classes. He wondered if he even spoke at all during school, other than to answer questions.

Sensing that Ludwig was feeling rather like Gilbert had that morning, he reached into the basket on the floor beside him and picked up a box of assorted chocolates. "Here," He threw the box at Ludwig and he caught it easily, "You eat the chocolate, I'll turn on the T.V." He stood up, "Oh, and do you want a beer?"

While Ludwig looked like he could really use one, he shook his head violently, "They kill brain cells, you know. And I'm not sixteen yet."

"Sixteen is just a suggestion," Gilbert sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, "What do you want, uhh… apple juice? Kind of looks like beer."

"Sure. Bring the whole bottle."

Gilbert removed a beer and a liter of apple juice from the fridge and brought them back to the living room where he unscrewed the cap from the juice and popped the cap off of the beer. Taking a long drink, Gilbert turned on the T.V. and left it on whatever was playing last.

Ludwig, who was already sitting in a pile of wrappers, took a gulp from the large bottle. His knees were curled up to his chest, his hair jutting out in angles like branches of a tree, and a stream of juice ran down his chin as he drank. He looked all too different to Gilbert, as if since yesterday Ludwig had changed.

"Are… you okay?" Gilbert asked cautiously.

Setting down the drink, Ludwig wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and action that shocked Gilbert- any other day, Ludwig would've gotten up himself and found a napkin. "Yeah," He sighed forlornly, "Just a long day, that's all. Where did you get the chocolates?"

Just like him to change the subject, but nonetheless, Gilbert obliged, "A kid I have class with as a consolation gift. By the way…" He took another drink from his beer, "Did Opa spend a lot of time with people? I mean, did he have friends that he helped out? Was he well known?"

Ludwig gave him a curious look, "I don't know. He might have had a few friends, but for all I knew, he spent most of his time with us after he retired."

Silently, they stared at the T.V.. Whatever they were watching was a soap opera- the woman was crying in her room while sounds of shouting echoed from a supposed hallway. The doors burst open and a man, face red and round with fury stormed in and began shouting at her about how she hadn't acted soon enough and it was all her fault that the house was getting foreclosed.

After they stared blankly at it for several minutes, Ludwig piped up, "He was watching this before he died, you know. It's playing a DVD."

Gilbert felt an uneasy feeling in his stomach, "He liked this show? I didn't know that. Maybe he was more of a sappy old man than we thought. He kind of looked majestic all the time, like Dumbledore did- and like him, he was a complete dork."

Ludwig snorted, "It's a little weird, huh? He stopped watching, wondering what was going to happen, and he never found out. And now we're finding out for him."

"Yeah," Gilbert agreed, picking up another chocolate. This time it was lemon, "I hope he picked a good show."

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Quick question, though, do you guys think Prussia is in character? He's tricky to write, but I'm hoping I'm doing it right._


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, with a pile of homework to join, both weighing heavily on Gilbert's back, both figuratively and literally. He and Ludwig fell once more into their daily routines, however quietly. Ludwig never discussed school, getting his homework and projects done so quickly he had nothing left to do for the rest of the day. Gilbert procrastinated his work, staying up late into the night to tackle whatever his professors had given him and waking up early enough to see Ludwig off to school. From Professor Sigismund, he had been assigned to read _Great Expectations_ by Charles Dickens, which, even with Gilbert's satisfactory abilities in English, was quite a pain to read. His research paper on _Frederick der Große_ had taken a back burner, considering it was due at the end of the month, and likewise, he hadn't done much with it.

He hadn't heard from or seen Roderich since the day in the library, but a heavy feeling of guilt was settling on him as he and Ludwig polished off the remains of the chocolates over the next few days. The roses, still rich in color, were sitting on their windowsill, showing little evidence that they would wilt and die soon. Several times, Gilbert considered sending him a thank you text, but he never got around to it- or rather, was too proud to.

Three days that week he had to go to work, though the traffic was relatively slow, and he spent most of his time leaning over the counter in his stiff uniform, the scent of sandwiches clinging to him like dust to a black shirt. Nonetheless, he had been paid, and used it to buy some groceries, all of which confused him greatly, because- admittedly- he wanted to look like an adult with vegetables in his shopping cart, but he hadn't the slightest inclination about how to cook.

His homework provided enough distraction in his now relatively quiet life that it had been an entire week since Opa Gerhard had passed away before he knew it, and when there was a polite knock on the door that evening, he was almost surprised to see Herr Zollern staring back at him, a small smile playing on his lips. Though he wanted to resist the inevitable and refuse to let him in, Gilbert stepped aside and allowed him into the house.

He was dressed similarly as before, with a dark blue, three-piece, ill-fitting suit and a hat placed atop his balding head. At his side, he carried an enormous briefcase, the kind with multiple locks on itself and more pockets than anyone would have a need for. He showed himself to the table, Gilbert trailing awkwardly behind, as if this was no longer his home and he was the guest. Ludwig was already seated at the table, so engrossed in his math homework that he didn't notice Herr Zollern until he sat down across from him.

"Oh! Herr Zollern!" Ludwig stood up quickly, knocking over his binder in the process. He flushed, "It's good to see you."

 _The bearer of bad news_ , Gilbert thought bitterly, _Absolutely great to see you._

"Can I get you something to drink?" Ludwig offered politely.

"Just a beer, please," Herr Zollern said, lifting his briefcase on to the table and began to unhook the latches and locks. _My beer_ , thought Gilbert angrily.

Ludwig left for the kitchen and Gilbert took a seat across from Herr Zollern, "Ludwig, get me a beer, too." This was going to painful and long- he might as well dull himself a little for it.

Ludwig returned as Herr Zollern was removing a fat binder from his briefcase and dropped it on the chestnut table with a _thud_. He opened it up to reveal hundreds of papers with the tiniest font printed on them in neat little rows, a divider separating them every fifty pages or so.

"This," Herr Zollern said, taking a drink from his beer and flipping through a few pages, "Is a very important set of documents. It includes a copy of your grandfather's will, his finances, and copies of the laws that deal with custody and adoption. Gilbert, you may have to adopt your brother, depending on the circumstances, but we'll see how that goes."

Gilbert wasn't interested in having conversations about hypothetical things, "What's the likelihood that Ludwig will stay with me?" He looked at his brother nervously, who was absorbed in staring at the papers, perhaps trying to read them from this angle.

"Well, the courts will have to review your financial history. They'll need to see how much you spend, what you spend it on, and if you're financially responsible enough to care for a minor," Herr Zollern explained. When he spoke, his cheek jowls moved slower than his voice, and he gave the impression of a bloodhound. He turned to Ludwig, who was shrinking in his chair, "Ludwig, would you say your brother is responsible with his money?"

Ludwig nodded eagerly- whether he said it out of honesty or out of a desire to stay with his brother, Gilbert didn't know. " _Very_ responsible," He said, "He rarely buys things he doesn't need." Gilbert thought back to his shopping trip earlier that week- did he really need that radish?

"Good," Herr Zollern smiled, "Then, I would say, on your current income, without your inheritance, the chances the court will leave Ludwig with you are around fifteen percent."

" _What_?" Gilbert pressed, standing up from his chair, "They can't possibly believe someone else could take better care of him! I'm his brother, for God's sake!"

Herr Zollern shook his head, his demeanor still calm, "It's not about who knows him better. It's about who will be able to provide for him. Minimum wage is around nine euro per hour, and I doubt you work more than a few days a week. While it was enough with your grandfather funding your living quarters, it isn't sufficient for utilities, groceries, and other essentials."

"You don't know that," Gilbert muttered into his beer, "We're perfectly capable of getting things done. My income can certainly provide enough for utilities and food. As soon as I finish this year of college, I can start working, and then there's no reason I can't provide for Ludwig."

"And what career do you intend on going into with your degree in history?" Herr Zollern asked, and Gilbert felt awfully like was being baited.

"I'm… not sure yet," Gilbert admitted sullenly, "But I've got my options narrowed down, and I'm making a final decision before Christmas."

Herr Zollern was quiet for a moment, looking around as if the walls or the table could provide more questions for him to fire at Gilbert, "And if you get married and decide to start a family?"

Gilbert huffed, his features turning up in disgust, "I don't know about that. If it ever happens, Ludwig will be old enough to take care of himself by then. It doesn't matter, and you shouldn't ask people such nosey questions." Feeling daunting, Gilbert raised his eyebrows aloofly. That'd teach some pretentious old man from trying to form his life for him.

His eyes softened, "Gilbert, you will soon learn that life is more than just getting by. Sometimes, changes must be made for the better."

"For the better?" Gilbert scoffed, his voice cracking dangerously. He could feel panic forming like a weight in his chest, "How much better do you think Ludwig would be with a family he doesn't know?"

"What I think doesn't matter. I give advice and I finalize documents. I cannot give you my opinion."

"But you have an opinion?"

"Of course."

Gilbert rested his head in his hands. He could hear Ludwig's shaking breath from beside him, "Well, then why not tell us? You knew our grandfather, you knew what he would've wanted. If you think you know what's best, then tell us."

"Oh, but, Gilbert, you knew your grandfather, too- better than I, better than anyone, better than even Ludwig. If anyone has advice to give, it's you to yourself."

"Oh, _sure_ ," Gilbert sneered, "Do you know how much he told us about himself? Absolutely nothing. We don't even know where he worked. I sure as hell don't know what he wanted."

"He wanted you to have his money."

"So that's what you think I should do? Accept the money?"

"Not necessarily."

Gilbert slammed his fist on the table. The beers rattled from the force and Ludwig whimpered. "Quit giving me unclear words!" Gilbert demanded, "If you're supposed to give advice, then give it already. What do we do?"

Silence hung thickly in the air a while longer, painful and tangible. Fuming, Gilbert sat back down and took a long drink from his beer. The cold liquid poured down his throat, bitter and harsh, but it seemed to cool down the anger that was burning in his gut.

Ludwig piped up, "And if we accepted the money? How likely would they be to allowing me to stay?"

"There's about a ninety percent chance they'd let you stay," Herr Zollern clarified.

"Well, then," Ludwig said indignantly, "We'll just take the money."

"Not an option," Gilbert glared at his brother, then at Herr Zollern, "It's going in a trust fund for Ludwig and that's that. Where do I sign?"

"Gilbert, don't you want me to live with you?" This time Ludwig stood up, his face red with fury. For his age, he was incredibly mature, far more than Gilbert had ever been. Dejected, Gilbert wished the positions were reversed. If Ludwig was the adult here, he'd have no trouble trusting his judgement. His own judgement, however, was the questionable one.

"There's still a chance you can stay with me, and I'm going to take that chance, okay? It's the right thing to do."

Gilbert's decision being clear, Herr Zollern removed several papers in the binder and pushed them towards him along with a pen. Uncapping the pen, Gilbert glossed over the words. "This one is for the trust fund?"

"Correct."

Ludwig's voice sounded unlike his own, "If you sign this, I'll be _glad_ to leave."

Like he had been punched in the gut, Gilbert recoiled, his heart nearly stopping in his chest. He looked up at his brother, whose eyes resembled steel as he stared back fiercely, a hurt so deep that it took the form of rage.

Hand shaking, Gilbert brought the tip of the pen near the line, and in several large swoope, wrote his name and the date.

Ludwig huffed loudly and got up from the table, "Goodbye, Herr Zollern. I'm sorry you had to witness the demise of your friend's grandchildren." Like that, he stormed from the room, up the stairs, and into his room. Until they heard the click of the door locking, they were silent.

"He's nearly a teenager, Gilbert. Older than his biological age, too. But maturity can only go so far," Herr Zollern said distantly. Gilbert was still shaken up by seeing his name on the paper and the implications that followed. Sensing the deep wound the relationship had suffered, he continued, "And he didn't mean that, not one bit. Though, I'd expect you'd know that."

Gilbert didn't address what Ludwig had said. Instead, he cleared his dry throat, "Have I done the wrong thing? Ludwig's the one usually right about things."

Herr Zollern returned the papers to his binder and began packing up his things, "Gilbert, there are no good nor bad decisions. Decisions can lead to outcomes, which can be good, bad, or both. But as my favorite proverb ever says: 'Everything is okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end.'"

Gilbert huffed, staring at his warped reflection in the dark brown glass of the beer bottle, "If you say so."

"I will schedule the court date for the decision on Ludwig's custody, and I will let you know as soon as I find out," Herr Zollern said, gripping his briefcase and heading towards the door, "Goodbye, Gilbert, and remember- everything will be okay, no matter what."

Gilbert bid him a haphazard goodbye, waiting for the door to swing shut behind him. With the dining room now empty, Gilbert sulked in his chair, his beer having grown unappetizingly warm in the time he had been gripping it instead of drinking it. He'd talk to Ludwig later, _maybe_ , depending on how long he'd been crying and if he was still objected to anything to do with his Gilbert- the brother he'd gladly leave if he wasn't rich.

Was that what it was all about? Money? Gilbert couldn't imagine that Ludwig held that much value in wealth or material things, but the kid was pretty mysterious, quiet, and rarely talked about values and beliefs with anyone, much less Gilbert. (Though, it was likely he had his own philosophical discussions with himself; that wouldn't surprise him at all.)

Feeling a headache come on, he frowned at his lukewarm, unappealing beer, and decided that, while it wouldn't do much good, he needed to go out, and he needed more beer.

Scribbling to Ludwig a note that he had gone out and had his phone on him, he whipped out his phone and began typing.

 _Do you want to go out for a beer?_

Within seconds, a reply appeared.

 _Of course. My treat._

And like that, Gilbert had signed himself up for a night out with Roderich Edelstein.

 _Oops! Kind of short, I'm sorry. This is kind of in regard to the previous chapter, but what do you think of Roderich's character? Is he too pushy? Too interested in Gilbert already? Feedback is appreciated! Chapter three will be interesting, I assure you. Two very different personalities going out for a casual drink… Thanks for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

They met in a _Biergarten_ outside of central Munich, and sat outside in the warm autumn air, just as the sun was glowing with redness on the horizon- a flush, embarrassed, like submitting to night would somehow heal the humiliation it felt. A soft breeze rattled the umbrella above them and the table, making the only noise in the entire area; remarkably, Roderich and Gilbert were alone in the little alcove beside the indoor restaurant, which made it all the more painfully awkward as they sat across from each other. They hadn't spoken a single word out loud to each other since the library, only texts, and even after they had sat down together, all Gilbert could think of to say was "Hi".

All abilities of smalltalk, not that he had ever been good at it, seemed to fly out of the window as they stared at their drinks in silence. Gilbert had ordered a beer like he had drank earlier that night, and by now, it was already halfway empty, the amber liquid through the glass casting abstract shapes of light on the table. Roderich sat behind some kind of flamboyant red drink in a wine glass which, to Gilbert, seemed natural that he'd order something pretentious- looking at him, he wondered if Roderich had ever even had a beer.

He imagined the night would go on like this forever, in dead silence, until they finished their drinks and parted ways awkwardly, but it wasn't to be: Gilbert watched as Roderich raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth to speak.

"I'm terribly sorry for being so assertive with you, Gilbert," Roderich straightened his back and made what was probably the most painful eye contact he'd ever experienced. He looked like a king in his chair, with his hands folded on the table and his ruffly shirt resting on his skinny frame; Likewise, Gilbert felt much like a prisoner awaiting orders for execution.

"I merely…" Roderich stopped staring at Gilbert and dropped his gaze to his drink.

"What? You merely want some kid to play with because you don't know what else to do with your money?" Gilbert snapped. The look of hurt that formed on Roderich's face instantly sent a pang of guilt in Gilbert, and he looked away.

"No," Roderich said calmly, "But no matter. It's really of no consequence, anyway."

Feeling uncomfortable in his seat, Gilbert shifted, then took a long drink, "So you're a music major?"

Roderich nodded, and seemed to lighten up a little at the mention of it, "Yes, with a concentration in piano."

"Cool," Gilbert deadpanned, "I mean… what kind of job can you get with piano?"

Roderich looked offended, "Playing piano, of course. People will pay a great deal of money to host a performance for a great pianist."

Gilbert snorted and took a long drink of beer, "Yeah, but aren't the chances of that happening kind of slim? You have to be really great to do that. It's like becoming a famous singer or actor. You have to be really good, or just play your cards perfectly."

A look over anger twisted Roderich's delicate features, "Who says I'm not good enough? You've never even heard me play, so you're in no position to judge my success. I've worked hard for this my whole life. My parents even got me a grand piano for my barmitzvah. This is something I really want."

"Doesn't matter. A piano won't get you off the street when you're homeless, it won't provide for your loved ones, so you'd better make a back-up plan before it's too late," Gilbert sneered. His beer was nearly empty by now. A new one sounded nice.

Apparently, Roderich had had enough, because he leapt to his feet, nearly knocking over his drink in the process, "And I'm supposed to assume your little history degree will do anything, either? What are you going to be? A teacher?"

Gilbert's face fell, but soon his expression hardened and he jumped out of his chair as well. "Come on," He taunted, "Say that again, will you? Tell me how jacking off on a piano will earn you any more than I will!" Fortunately, no one else was near them to witness the outburst, but Gilbert watched out of the corner of his eye as the waiter slunk back into the kitchen with new drinks, trying to avoid the quarrel.

"Don't be so vulgar!" Roderich scolded, his cheeks tinted with red. Whether they were hot with embarrassment or anger, Gilbert didn't know. "You know, I thought you were different, like your grandfather- but you're _nothing_ like him, Gilbert. He was kind, empathetic, and understanding. You are _none_ of that. I thought you'd want friendship after he passed away, but I guess I was wrong."

"You don't even _know_ me!" Gilbert exclaimed, raising his arms in the air wildly, "How could you know what I want, or even who my grandfather was?!" He sunk back into his seat, propping his head on his hand, "Please don't tell me you knew him before I told you he had passed away."

"I knew him," Roderich affirmed, sliding back into his seat as well. The tension around them had broken, but the painful awkwardness still hung densely in the air, "I knew him very well, actually. When I found out I had a class with his grandson, I was ecstatic. I thought maybe he'd be as eloquent and considerate as his grandfather, but I suppose everyone has to be wrong once in a while."

Gilbert was too concerned about the fact that even Roderich himself knew Opa Gerhard to care that he had been insulted, "But… how did you know him?"

Just as Roderich opened up his mouth to answer, the waiter stepped out towards their table, looking slightly anxious from their outburst earlier, "Another beer?" He asked, nodding at Gilbert's empty glass.

Gilbert shook his head before Roderich could give any consent, "The bill, please."

The waiter left and Roderich continued, "We're leaving so soon? Did you just come out here for a free beer and a chance to mock me?"

"I just had a lot of things on my mind, I guess," Gilbert admitted reluctantly, "My brother's at home by himself, and I needed to get out. I, uhh…" He looked down, laughing pathetically to himself, "I didn't want to look like a loser out here by myself, and I knew if I asked, you'd drop everything, so I asked you."

Roderich looked a little disappointed, "Oh, so anyway, about your grandfather."

Gilbert listened eagerly, attentively.

"When I was getting ready to finish up high school, he helped me sort some things together as I was preparing for college."

Gilbert scoffed in bewilderment, "That's it?"

"Yes, of course," Roderich said, as if it made complete sense.

The contradiction was that Roderich was, at most, Gilbert's age, if not younger, and whatever Opa Gerhard did, he had retired from over twenty years ago. Even if his work had any There was _no_ way that any kind of work that he did was in affiliation with Roderich three or four years ago.

"But how?" He implored, "How could you have known him?"

The waiter returned with the bill, and Roderich dug around in his wallet for the required payment. Gilbert swallowed harshly, hoping Roderich would continue his explanation.

When it had been paid, Roderich turned back to Gilbert, "What were we talking about?"

Despite how much he desired to know, Gilbert knew he wouldn't be getting a straight answer anytime soon, and so he cleared his throat and stood up, "Nevermind. I should get home. My brother is alone- thanks… thanks for the beer, though."

Roderich's lips tightened, "It's not a problem. But I don't think we should do this again. I thought you were a different person, but I suppose you're not. Our personalities clash, Gilbert, and if we're both going to upset each other, I think it'd be wise if we keep our distance."

Gilbert almost said that he'd thought that from the very beginning, but that'd be furthering Roderich's point, and so he nodded in agreement, "Yeah, I guess." He flipped out his phone and sent a text to Ludwig.

 _I'll be home soon._

While he'd say that the outing was an uncomfortable disaster, he did feel a little better, and for that reason, he was slightly glad he had agreed to leaving the house. Ludwig would probably still be sulking in his room- the poor kid didn't have anything else to do, really. With only school to keep him busy, he never went out with friends, never got into any trouble. Essentially, he was the polar opposite of anything resembling a teenage version of Gilbert.

Nonetheless, Roderich declared he had some shopping to do in downtown Munich, and so he bid Gilbert goodbye and began strolling in the direction of the city center while Gilbert made his way towards the train station. Ludwig hadn't texted back yet, and while he wasn't the kind of kid to be drawn to his phone like others his age, he almost always texted back- especially when Gilbert texted him.

Brushing it off as he neared the train station, Gilbert figured his brother would likely just be moping around, still angry at the fact that they weren't receiving the money. In essence, Ludwig was receiving the money, something that would be of major use to him in the future, and he didn't doubt for a second that Ludwig would be responsible with it. For that, Ludwig _should've_ been grateful.

The train ride home was peaceful- no loud kids with their bikes, and it was too early for the drunks to be stumbling in- but it was short lived, because soon he arrived at his house, swung open the door and began up the stairs.

"Ludwig! Do you want some dinner?"

There was no response as he neared his brother's room. Gilbert wondered if he was still crying. Another shout at him, but still, nothing, and Gilbert shook the handle of the door.

Locked.

Frustrated and exasperated, Gilbert jiggled the doorknob once more, "Come on, Ludwig, open up. I don't give a shit if you're mad at me. Open the door."

When he waited a moment, only for no reaction to occur, painful thoughts filled his head. What if…? No, impossible.

Trying to make light of the moment, Gilbert laughed sheepishly to himself, "Alright, I'm going to get a key, so if you're jacking off, I'm sorry." He scrambled into his room, grabbed a safety pin, and began picking the lock. Which, in reality, wasn't much of a pick, because the the small hole in the doorknob needed only to be poked by something small, and the door would swing open.

With a satisfying click, the lock was snapped and the door unlocked. Hand shaking, he opened the door swiftly, "Ludwig, you-"

Empty.

Ludwig's neatly made bed, organized desk and dresser were the only ones in the room to greet him, and instantly Gilbert felt his heart hammer wildly in his chest and his head pound. His knees buckled as he dashed around the small room, searching for a clue. The room was too small and neat for Ludwig to be hiding anywhere, but nonetheless, Gilbert looked beneath the bed, behind the desk- anywhere Ludwig could've hidden, but to no avail.

Finally, as a last ditch effort, he dashed around the house, searching every corner as his face continued heating up and sweat formed on his brow. Terrified of every possible outcome, Gilbert knew what the real consequences were: he was in charge now, and if this escalated to anything, he'd be responsible and likewise, banish any possibility of Ludwig staying with him- and all over a damn inheritance.

He glanced at his phone, not for a response from Ludwig, but deciding whether or not he should call the police. It was clear, of course, that they _should_ be called, but if he did, and Ludwig turned up missing, that'd go on record and there'd be no way in _hell_ they'd let him keep Ludwig, and off to some random family he'd be shipped.

After nearly fifteen minutes of searching, it became evident that Ludwig was not in the house at all, and with the extensive train system, could literally be anywhere in the Munich area. Pushing his bangs out of his eyes, Gilbert sighed, feeling panic rise in his gut like bile, and soon he was outside, pacing the streets, racking his brain for ideas as to where Ludwig could've gone.

The worst part was that Ludwig never _went_ anywhere besides school, and so he had no indication as to where his brother would go- he didn't have friends, so he wouldn't be at anyone's house, he hadn't any places he liked to hang out or play sports, so Gilbert was left clueless in the winding streets outside of Munich.

Suddenly, he became inclined to look at his phone once more, and an idea struck him. It was crazy, he was going to regret it, and it would be miserable, but at the moment, he couldn't think of anything else to do.

 _Roderich, this sounds crazy, but my brother's gone and I need your help to find him._

He waited the longest minute of his life.

His phone buzzed and it was the sweetest noise he had ever heard.

 _I'm a little busy, but I'll see what I can do. Have you called the police?  
_

 _No._

 _Why not?_

 _It's complicated, but I really need help right now. I have no one else._

There was a very long break before Roderich texted back, and Gilbert's stomach did flips of worry.

 _Meet me at the place we met earlier_. _I'll be there in fifteen minutes_.

Gilbert shoved his phone in his pocket and dashed off towards the train. He only hoped he'd find Ludwig before too much time passed.

Roderich arrived at almost the exact same time that Gilbert did, except Gilbert had gone by means of foot, and Roderich pulled up in a car that was probably worth more than whatever fortune Ludwig was receiving.

Stepping out of his car and sauntering over to Gilbert, Roderich asked, "So why can't you call the police?"

Gilbert shushed him, not wanting to draw attention to them, and led himself into Roderich's car, into the passenger seat. When Roderich joined him and they had closed all the doors, Gilbert continued, "Okay this is a really long story, so start driving."

Roderich turned the keys and the engine roared to life. Quite recklessly, he pulled out of the parking spot and Gilbert wondered where he had learned to drive.

"Okay, so here's how it happened," Gilbert sighed deeply, trying to summarize the past few days' events smoothly, "So this lawyer guy who happened to know my opa told us that we have this big inheritance heading our way, and we also have to deal with Ludwig's custody, if I'm to take care of him or if he'd be given away to some other family." 

"That sounds awful," Roderich said sympathetically, turning down to a smaller street. Gilbert kept an eye out from the window, looking for a shock of blonde hair and a long stride.

"It is. Well, anyway, I denied the money, and-"

"You _denied_ it?!" Roderich gaped, very nearly running into another car in his awe, "That's completely ludicrous!"

"Shut up and hear me out," Gilbert ordered. "Ludwig had the same thoughts as you- he got really pissed when I told him I didn't think we needed the money, even though the courts would more likely let him stay if I kept the money. Anyway, I didn't completely drop the money. I put it in a trust fund for Ludwig."

Roderich took a moment before responding, "That's sensible."

"I _know_ ," Gilbert huffed, relieved that finally _someone_ could agree to at least that. "But Ludwig hated the idea for some reason, which is weird, because he's usually pretty reasonable, you know? And he got really angry, which I guess is why he ran away." Under his breath, he muttered, "Kind of odd for a kid so smart to just take off."

Roderich sighed, "Probably because he doesn't want to get taken away from you. Without the money, you might not be able to support him."

"You're starting to sound like Ludwig."

"Whatever. So, I'm taking it that you won't call the police because you're concerned that if they find out he left under your care, it'll eliminate all possibilities of him staying with you?" Roderich assumed correctly, and Gilbert nodded in assurance.

"That's about the size of it. And don't try and convince me that I should take the money, because I won't. I've already made up my mind about that." Gilbert swallowed harshly. The more he tried to convince himself that he didn't need the money, the less he believed any reason that he shouldn't take it. Hell, if he had taken it already, they wouldn't be in this mess. Ludwig would still be there, and he wouldn't be stuck in a car with Roderich.

"Suit yourself," They turned down another street, "So where are we going? Do you want to split up to cover more ground and see if we can find him that way? Or do you have another plan?"

Gilbert said nothing for a moment. With panic settling in like a plague, he sunk lower into his seat and tapped his fingers on the window. With the enormity of Munich, they would definitely need a plan, or at least some kind of course of action to find Ludwig quickly.

Because if Ludwig didn't turn up by the morning, he'd have no choice but to call the police, and by then, it wouldn't matter if they found Ludwig or not, because he'd have lost his brother either way.

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Where do you think Ludwig is? I know, of course, but I'd like to hear your theories!_


End file.
